"Pharmacists Who Care."

That's what the sign in the back of the CVS at 11th and Market reads. I'm there buying lubricant, which, like rubbers, douche and hemorrhoid ointment, is located right in front of the pharmacist. This is a task fraught with such anxiety I break into a cold sweat just thinking about it.

Am I a freak show of neuroses, or are other people also haunted by visions of price checks wherein flashing neon arrows drop from the ceiling and a Rod Roddy-type announcer booms, "Come on down to register one! We need a p-p-p-price check on intimacy-enhancing K-Y warming lady lube!" The daymare only ends one way, of course: I am stoned to death by Barker babes. I've seen enough slasher flicks to know the promiscuous girls always die.

And then I get angry. Why can't CVS hide the lube among benign things like ammonia and school supplies?

A few theories:

A) This is some form of 21st-century public shaming, allowing self-righteous pharmacists to intimidate anyone within spitting distance of the prophylactics.

B) The placement of condoms next to pregnancy tests is the corporate fascists' way of subliminally moralizing on the consequences of sex. (So keep it in your pants, kids.)

C) Those ribbed-for-her-pleasure six-packs scream "five-finger discount."

Norm, a CVS pharmacist, says it's D) none of the above. "The layout of every store is handed down from corporate, but I think those items are so close because people feel more comfortable buying them from a pharmacist, instead of some teenager who might snicker at them."

Indeed there's nothing more degrading than asking someone half your age where the condoms are, only to be treated like you're their dad asking them to videotape an orgy down at the country club. Or maybe there's no look at all. Daphne, a cashier at a Rite Aid near Rittenhouse Square, says some women wander away from the register when their partners are buying condoms. "I just be like, 'Whatever.' It's a natural part of life. You don't gotta be ashamed."

Daphne suspects customers think she thinks more deeply about the products they're purchasing than she actually does. "Some guy come in here buying itchy-ball cream, saying it's not for him and stuff. I be like, 'I don't really care about your itchy balls, mister.'"

Curious if the laws of mortification also apply to people buying strap-ons and Anal Eaze, I swing by Edward's Pleasure Palace on Arch Street, Philly's largest peep mall. Al, a 35-year veteran of adult stores, says the only things his customers are bashful about buying are the sissification and tranny mags. "But I don't say nothing that'd make 'em feel embarrassed. We don't judge anyone here."

Brenda, a clerk at Scorpio Adult Boutique & Video in the Gayborhood, says some regulars still shield their faces when they walk in, or put the magazine or DVD facedown on the counter. "'It's not for me,'" she mimics in a deep, manly voice. "It's never for them."

Brenda says older customers are usually the least inhibited. "They come in here buying grandma and fat-lady porn and those kinds of things," she says, pointing to the 15-inch Great American Challenge purple dildo. "One guy, he tried to say it was a tabletop decoration. Yeah, uh-huh, sure it is."

So has three years working in a sex shop eased Brenda's own inhibitions about buying condoms at the drugstore?

"Are you kidding me? I order my condoms online."

Questions? Comments? Diggin' bukkake? E-mail ashlea.halpern@citypaper.net. No phone calls.